


The Loveless Cat

by Erica45



Category: DCU (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Blood, How is that not a tag, Human Experimentation, Injury, M/M, Mama Cat Selina, Tim Drake is Catlad | Stray, TimKon Secret Santa, information broker tim, it's only mentioned, no gore though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:34:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22261912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Erica45/pseuds/Erica45
Summary: For a long time, Tim was markless, his skin free of any design or name that would show that someone, someday would love him. He gave up on finding anyone who would before he turned thirteen.Now, in his late teens, he had a name that people recognised, even revered. He had a mom in the form of his mentor.He had a mark.
Relationships: Tim Drake/Kon-El | Conner Kent
Comments: 29
Kudos: 658





	The Loveless Cat

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文-普通话 國語 available: [不被爱着的猫](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22844350) by [TimothyWithConner](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TimothyWithConner/pseuds/TimothyWithConner)



> I participated in a TimKon secret santa for the last month and it took up all my writing time. I really wanted to give a good gift, so I hope that anyone who reads this will enjoy it :)

Clad in a skintight catsuit, Tim was crouching on a rooftop, in the middle of a job, when he got a visitor. Their footfalls were near silent, but he easily identified them by the subtle clicking of their heels. Unbothered by the newcomer, he turned the dial on his camera lense to zoom closer on the crooked businessman he was watching. “Mama Cat,” he greeted her cheerfully. “What’s up?”

“Oh, nothing much—just enjoying a night out on the town,” Catwoman quipped back, seamlessly sliding in beside him and sitting down on the roof edge. 

“Catch anything?” he inquired, his attention split between her and his target. The middle aged man was pacing around in his office, behind the desk, his fingers tapping on his leg. The man was nervous, as he should be. If Tim’s information was right—which it always was—there's a meeting about to go down that was not the kind that he’d want any law abiding people knowing about it. Not saying that Tim was law abiding, but there were others, who were willing to pay him, that were.

“What do you think?” Shifting fabric and a squeak of leather prompted Tim to take his eyes away from his camera long enough to glance over at her. She was lounging on the stone beside him, lazily holding something in two clawed fingers. It was a necklace, thick chained and heavily studded with precious gems. Diamonds, emeralds and rubies glittered in a golden frame, creating an illustration of cold flowers. There was at least fifteen grand making up the accessory. And Selina was idly holding it above a 30 floor drop. 

Tim snorted. “I think you got what you wanted,” he assured her, a grin pulling at his mouth. “That’s from Ms Everleigh jeweler’s box—right?”

“Yup,” she spun the necklace once around her fingers before gently putting it back into the velvet bag that she was keeping it in. Tucking it back into her belt, she stretched her arms out in front of her. “It was so easy too, for blue bloods. Their security was shameful.”

“Too boring?” Tim asked as he turned back to his own target and grinned. A sharply dressed man had just entered, strutting into the room like he owned the place. Pressing down on the shutter button, he tracked the known enforcer for a mob boss as he moved to greet the businessman. Tim’s grin turned sharp as he watched them. Gotcha. 

Selina hummed. “It was at first,” she admitted then she leaned against him, her shoulder pressed against his, “but I got a little visit.”

“Ew, tee-em-i, Mama,” he groused, shoving her away from him.

She laughed and rocked back before settling again. “You’re the one that went there,” she teased. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Previous experience suggests otherwise,” he snipped, taking a second to look away from his targets to glare at her. 

She shrugged, unrepentant. “You’re not wrong, I do like being caught every once in a while—”

Tim made a gagging sound.

“—but he didn’t come for that,” she continued over him. 

That caused his ear to twitch. He peeked through his lense again to take a couple more pictures, and to make sure that his targets were still talking, before lifting his head to give her more of his attention. 

She smirked, looking like that cat who caught the canary. For all he knew, she had. Taking her time, she looked at her fingers, inspecting the claws gleaming in the low light. “Bats had a message to pass along,” she started idly. “Apparently another hero came to him, asking for your services.”

Tim hummed, his brain automatically going through the heroes that might come for his help. The list wasn’t that long. Not many were willing to pay for information. “Did he say what they wanted? Blackmail or whatnot?”

Selina shrugged. “Bats didn’t specify. I’m not too sure that he even knew what it’s about.”

Tim rolled his eyes and turned back to the job that he was currently doing. The enforcer was lounging in the plush chair, looking over a folder on his lap. Tim waited and watched as he closed it and stood up, offering his hand to the businessman. They shook. Tim pressed down on the shutter button, capturing the damning evidence of dealing with the mob. 

That done, he sat back with a content humm. “So, who’s asking?”

“Superboy.”

Tim paused while dismantling his camera, fighting a flush that was darkening his cheeks. Trying to keep cool, and not show the slight tremor in his hands, he placed the lense back into its case—maybe pulling a bit tighter on the straps then was necessary. Clearing his throat he asked, “Bats didn’t say what he wanted?”

“Nope,” Selina said, popping the p. 

Tim glanced at her and scowled at her knowing grin. “Shut up.”

She leaned back, holding up her hands. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to,” he told her dryly. “Whatever you’re thinking about—don’t. You know I’m not looking.” Unfortunately, the heat on his cheeks made his words into a lie. One that he told himself over and over again. He’d long since accepted that he wouldn’t find anyone, regardless of the mark on his chest. A budding interest in a hot superhero wouldn’t change that.

Selina’s eyes, behind the amber goggles, where heavy lidded with something that he couldn’t place. Sadness maybe? “You’re not markless anymore,” she reminded him quietly. 

Tim’s jaw twitched and he shouldered his camera bag onto his back, using the time to find a response. She was right, he wasn’t without a soulmate anymore, but that didn’t really change anything, did it? “They’re at least fourteen years younger then me— they’re three," he stated flatly. "I'm not even going to touch that.”

“I know that,” she shot back. “What I’m trying to say is that you’re not loveless. I’ve been telling you that since I found a little boy running across rooftops.”

Tim paused and looked back at her. Her shoulders were tense and her claws were digging into her suit where she had placed them on her hips. Sighing, he went over and wrapped his arms around her. “I know,” he whispered as he pressed his face into her shoulder. “I know that you love me, and that means so much.”

Selina sighed and pressed her cheek to the top of his head. She didn’t say anything more, accepting that whatever she said wasn’t going to change his mind. Getting him to believe that anyone wanted to even be interested in him was an uphill battle. She gritted her teeth and wished, not for the first time, that she could punch his parents. 

The stayed in the hug for a moment longer before Tim pulled away, going over to the far edge of the roof. “I’ll text him,” he called back to her. “You can tell Bats that.”

“Naw,” she chuckled. “Let's let him figure it out on his own.”

Tim snorted then offered her a two fingered salute before leaning back to fall off the edge. He wasn’t a bird, but that didn’t mean he didn’t know how to land on his feet. 

***

Hours later, after he’d delivered the pictures to who’d purchased them, Tim was curled up on his couch, content in soft pjs. Or he should have been. His eyes were locked on the black cell laying innocently on his coffee table. He did have to remind himself of that, that the phone wasn’t to blame for his current dilemma. He’d told Selina that he would text Superboy, to set up a meeting. And he was going to do it—he was. He just had to pick up the phone and actually do it. 

Tim sighed and ran a hand through his hair, pausing to tug on the too long strands. It was easy, just pick it up and text him. He groaned and scrubbed at his face, shifting forwards then stopped when an irritated merr stopped him. “Sorry, Mykie,” Tim said automatically and ran a hand down the back of the Siamese tortoiseshell on his lap. Mica, his cat, shot him a look then settled back down, completely content in keeping him there. 

Resting his head on the back of his couch Tim muttered, “Just get it over with. He probably just wants information. It’ll be easy, you won't have to talk to him that much.”

Sucking in a deep breath, Tim scooped up his cell, careful not to disturb his cat this time. She didn’t even complain as he sat back and unlocked his phone. Well, Stray’s phone, Tim Drake had his own. Opening the messaging app, he picked the one that he’d already made for the Super, having got his number out of the JL database earlier.

Tim had put this off long enough to make sure that Superboy would be awake when he contacted him. He typed out his message then paused, his thumb hoving over the send arrow. He tapped it.

 **Stray:** I heard that you wanted my services.

Short, sweet and complelty _Stray_ , none of Tim Drakes stupid emotions mixed in. Clicking off the screen, he put the phone down on the couch armrest and sipped at his coffee, running his hand down Mica’s spine. She was so soft, which he greatly appreciated. Not two minutes later, his phone chimed.

 **Superboy:** how the hell did you get this number?

 **Superboy:** and how did you get into my contacts? I didn’t put you there.

Tim snorted. Hacking the kryptonians phone to make it register his number was the easiest thing he’d done that day. 

**Stray:** ;)

 **Superboy:** you know what nvm. yes i need your help with something. when’s the earliest we can meet?

Tim blinked down at his phone, so the Super was in a hurry. He knew that the younger kryptonian was brash and tended to act before thinking but this felt different. And he wasn’t asking over a text, which could mean a couple of things. Primarily, it could just be that Superboy wanted to talk face to face because that’s just who he was, or it could mean that he didn’t trust that is phone wasn’t bugged. The warmth in his chest cooling, he quickly typed out his response.

 **Stray:** I have a spare moment tonight. Come find me after midnight.

Superboy’s response was quick and short, confirming that he’d find him. Tim clicked his phone off and set it aside, his mind working. A case that was making a hothead like Superboy take a step back and see the need for subtlety—or at least more caustion then charging in without a plan. Tim wasn’t too sure what that could mean. 

Picking up his phone again, Tim opened twitter and checked the Superboywatch hashtagg, trying to see if he could figure out where he’d been. He would have pulled out his laptop for this, but he had a cat on his lap and knew better than to move her. 

***

Superboy found him very early in the morning, gently landing on a Gotham skyscraper. Stray was lounging on a heating unit, his eyes closed, but peeking out from under long lashes. Stretched out on his back, he put on a show of being completely at ease when the alien hybrid came to a stop a couple meters from him. 

“Superboy,” he greeted with a leisurely smile. “Beautiful night.”

The Kryptonian glanced upwards, eyeing the heavy overcast that hung over them. Looking back at Stray, he gestured upwards as he said, “Sure it is, lets just ignore the creepy clouds.”

Stray snorted and stretched out on the metal unit, putting on an air of nonchalance. “It is for Gotham.”

Superboy grunted, his mouth twisting in an amused smirk, before it dimmed. Shoving his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket, he asked with a cock of his head, “So, what’s your price?”

Stray raised a brow. Straight to the point then. “Depends,” he started, shifting so he was sitting up, twisting his spine to look more directly at the hero. “What are you buying?”

Interestingly, Superboy’s face darkened further, a scowl twisting his lips. “I need you to confirm something. I can’t find anything but rumors and if I’m right about this, punching it won’t do much.”

“Oh?” Stray asked, crossing his legs and leaning back on his hands. “What makes you say that?”

“‘Cause it’s an organization. One that’s so far underground that exposing one peice of it won’t do anything,” Superboy snapped, frustration tightening his tone.

Stray hummed, tapping a claw on the unit, the diamonds making a sharp sound on the steel. “So it is Cadmus,” he mused. 

Superboy jerked and his eyes widened. “How did you…”

Stray shrugged and smoothly climbed to his feet, walking around the baffled hero in a wide circle. “You were seen flying over the lot that use to be the Cadmus building. Then you come looking for me—someone who isn't a hero—for information. If you knew for certain that this was something important and/or had proof, you’d go to Batman, but you didn’t,” he stated, still circling the hero, his eyes narrowing. “You came to me, someone that would look into anything for a price. That means you’re acting on a feeling or a hunch, something that Batman would dismiss.” 

Levelling Superboy with an assessing look, he continued, “I’m no hero. You people only come to me when you’re desperate—meaning that it must be really getting to you. It’s personal. The only thing that I can think of that would drive you here would be Cadmus.”

Superboys’s jaw was slack as he stared at him, twisting to keep Stray insight. His blue-grey eyes were wide as he blinked at him, flabbergasted. “You’re really smart,” he blurted out.

Stray froze and straightened, staring back at him, feeling wrong footed. Did Superboy just compliment him? For simple deduction? Warmth started to invade his cheeks but he pushed it down and cocked his hip, tilting his chin up. “I am only if I’m right,” he pointed out flippantly. 

“You are,” the hero assured him, his expression open and sincere. “Or close. These guys go by the same name, but I don’t think it’s the same thing. It might be worse.” Superboy paused, his lips twisting into a grimace. 

Stray watched him, waiting for him to continue. 

“I don’t know that much,” he admitted quietly, his tone somber. “I heard chatter the other day from some goons. They mentioned Cadmus by name and something about ‘gene quality’. Yeah, I didn’t like the sound of that either,” he added when Stray’s nose wrinkled. He blinked at the Super—he hadn’t realized he was being watched close enough for the other to pick up on his reaction. 

Smoothing his face back out, he hummed, assessing that. “So, you’re looking for information conformation and enough data to bring it to the League?”

Superboy perked up and nodded, a smile stretching across his features. He looked like an excited puppy. “Yes, If we can find enough to get everyone moving we could find a way to shut them down for good.”

Stray cocked a brow, even if the other couldn’t see it under his goggles. “We?”

Superboy’s smile turned into a full on grin. “You think that I’d leave you to do all the heavy lifting? I want to help.”

That was…new. People didn’t normally want to get their hands dirty looking for things. They’d give him his jobs and leave so he could actually get what they wanted. Even the few heroes who’d asked for information didn’t stick around. They’d get their info and that was that, nothing else to it. Stray suspected it had something to do with coming to a ‘villain’ for help and not wanting to get any closer to him then they already were. 

Except for the Bats—but they were nuts and didn’t count. 

But here was Superboy, offering his help with an easy, endearing smile. Despite his earlier irritation, he looked at ease and confident. Maybe because he had a plan to follow, even if it was just working with Stray.

“You’re paying me,” Stray reminded him dryly. “The price won’t drop just because you’re helping out.”

Superboy shrugged, his large shoulders rolling with the motion. “I’m not one to dump my problems onto other people so they can fix it for me. There’s going to be a time where you might need a heavy hitter.” His face darkened slightly. “They made me, and I can punch through solid rock. If they’re making more like me…” he trailed off, but he didn’t need to say anymore to get his point across.

Stray stood still, mulling that over. He did have a point. But that meant working side by side with _Superboy_ for an undetermined amount of time. Stray had met the younger Super a couple of times before this, even teaming up once when they’d stumbled onto the same threat. It had been fun, bantering back and forth with Superboy, and having a tank as backup did have its appeal. 

Ignoring the fact that the hero in question was, in a word, hot. Kon-El stood at least a head taller than Stray, with broad shoulders and hard muscles easily seen through the S-suit he had on under the spiked leather jacket. The leather belts and ripped jeans added to the whole look. 

On a normal run-in, Stray could push down Tims stupid emotions long enough to get through whatever had brought them together. They’d be around each other for a couple of hours, max, before months of no contract. If Stray agreed to his help, Tim wouldn’t have the long absences to get his head on straight.

Stray opened his mouth to refuse, despite the tactical advantage, and blurted out, “Alright.”

Wait, _what_?

Superboy’s smile broadened and he floated a foot off the ground. “Really?” he asked, a hopeful grin on his face. “Great!”

Stray grunted, resisting the urge to bite his lip at the sheer positivity coming off of the other teen. He had not meant to say that. He had not meant to say that at all. Dammit. He couldn’t retract it either. Not only would it look weird if he immediately changed his mind, it would wipe the excited grin of his face. Stray told himself it was more about keeping up a good image that he continued with this trainwreck. 

“Alright,” he said again, crossing his arms. “Now that I know what’s going on, I have a price for you. The down payment is six thousand followed by another six when it’s done.”

“So, twelve thousand in total,” Superboy summarized, sobering slightly. “That’s doable, where do you want it?”

Stray observed him, lifting his brows slowly. Conner Kent, a Kansas boy with a ‘father’ that works as a Metropolis reporter. There was no way Clark had that kind of money, so why was Superboy being so dismissive about the amount? Watching him, Stray realised why, and he had to bite his cheek to keep from grinning like a lunatic. He didn’t know how he was doing it, but Superboy was somehow getting Lex Luthor to pay for this. 

Slipping a flashdrive from his gauntlet, he offered it to the Super. “This has all the information that you need to deposit the money,” he instructed, unable to hide the amusement from his tone.

Superboy looks at him funny as he takes it, his fingers brushing Stray’s smaller gloved hands. 

Quickly stepping back, Stray gave him a nod. “Once you do that, I’ll look into your little problem. I’ll contact you when I have something. See ya.” That said, he stepped off the roof, ignoring the way Superboy’s gaze stayed firmly on his back until he was out of sight. 

***

Three days later, Stray sat on the top of an old cathedral in Metropolis, sitting on the stone railing in the spire. He was tapping away on his wrist computer when Superboy arrived. The moment his feet touched the gravel, he got straight to the point. “You were right about it being underground. Almost everything they have is off grid. It took me awhile to find it, but I know where their base is. Problem is, I can’t remotely hack it. We have to go in so I can get the info you need to bring it to the Bats.”

“You already found it?” Superboy asked, his tone light with his amazement.

Stray blinked and lifted his gaze from the screen. The hero was standing over him, face open with his head tilted like a puppy. He was dressed the same as last time, excepting switching to a different pair of jeans. His fluffy black hair was windswept and falling over his forehead. Tim wanted to see if it was as soft as it looked.

Swallowing, Stray shut down the holographic screen and got to his feet, hopping down from the ledge. He picked up his Tim Hortons coffee cup and he drank the last little bit before admitting, “I would have sooner if they were connected to any other computer source. But they’re being smart and keeping everything off the net.” His grip tightened around the cup and his claws unsheathed, digging deep into the paper as he grumbled, “It’s fucking annoying when they’re smart.”

Superboy was silent for a moment before he asked, “How many of those have you had?”

“Hmm?” Stray looked up to see the hero gesture at the punctured cup. “Oh, five—why?”

Superboy’s eyebrows rose slightly, his eyes flicking between his face and the cup. “That’s not healthy,” he stated.

Stray stared at him, mouth falling open before he groaned. “You’re as bad as Cat,” he complained.

“Catwoman?” Superboy inquired, a slight grin tugging at his mouth.

“Yup,” Stray said popping the p, “calling her ‘Catwoman’ all the time is a mouthful. Cat is much shorter. Also, she has no appreciation for the joys that is coffee. Tea has corrupted her. I blame Agent A.”

“Agent Who?” Superboy asked, his grin widening as Stray talked. The thief blinked at it for a moment, thinking that he should smile like that more.

Tim stiffened. 

He shouldn't be thinking like that. He had no business thinking like that. 

He knew that Kon-El had a soulmate, even if the Kryptonian kept the mark design off every database possible. He had no right thinking about Superboy at all.

The moment that thought crossed his mind, his chest burned, right over his heart. Swallowing a grunt, he resisted the urge to place a hand over it, were his soulmark was. 

Gritting his teeth, he flapped a hand dismissively, shooing away Superboy’s question without answering it. Partly because he wouldn’t, and partly because he didn’t trust his voice. This had been happening far too often recently, his mark flaring up at odd times, reminding him that it was there. Sometimes, he prefered when he was markless—everything had been clearer when his skin was blank. No-one would love him, and that was that. Now, it was saying that someday, someone would. But that person was _fourteen years younger_ than him, so no, it didn’t matter.

He just wanted it to stop. 

So he ignored the stinging burn and pushed down all his emotions and the stupidity that came with them. Clearing his throat, Stray spun back around to face the hero, his free hand on his hip. “My drinking habits aren’t on trial right now, this group is.”

Superboy perked up at the conversation switch and he cracked his knuckles.

Stray quirked a smile at his reaction and started explaining, “You were right, there isn’t much on them at all. I had to get some of my people to use non-digital means to track them, but I got where they operate. Like the last Cadmus, it’s underground, beneath a small time research company they’re using as a front. Getting in shouldn’t be a problem, but we need to be quiet about it. If you’re coming,” he started, his voice dropping and taking on the icy edge he’d inherited from his birth mother, “you will follow my lead. This is an in and out mission—recon only.”

Superboy’s spine straightened, his eyes widening at Stray’s colder tone. The hero hadn’t heard it before so Stray couldn't blame him for reacting like that but what puzzled him was Superboy’s expression. Often, people would pale and cower when he used it, and he didn’t expect a hero to fear it, but not Superboy’s reaction. He was definitely startled by the shift but more...amazed? 

Stray didn’t allow himself to think too hard on it and waited till the other cleared his throat. “Uh…yeah, yup—got it.”

Stray raised a brow but let it go. Shaking his empty cup, he started, “Okay, give me a moment to find a garbage for this then—” he cut off, looking at his now empty hand and standing by himself in the cathedral’s spire. He stared at his half curled fingers then over his shoulders, twisting as he looked around. 

Yup, he was completely alone.

He peered over the stone railing then yelped when Superboy popped back up, right in front of him, his teeth showing with how wide his grin was. “Done—ready to go?”

Stray jerked back, flushing at how close his face had been to the Supers.

"Did you just—" he cut off his baffled question, looking at his empty hand then sighed. Shaking his head, his lips quirked up into a small smile. “Whatever—yeah,” he then rattled off the address that they needed to go to. It was on the outskirts of Metropolis, a good twenty minutes drive from where they were. 

“Oh! I know where that is,” Superboy exclaimed, beaming as he floated at eye level in front of him. "There's a nice little cafe not too far from there, let's go!"

Stray nodded, reaching for his grapple gun when arms encircled him and he was lifted off his feet. He yowled and felt his stomach lift like it did every time he fell off a building. 

Yep, he was falling. 

He flailed his arms around before he caught hold of the strong neck right next to him and held on tight. Both of his arms were wrapped around Superboy and he shoved his face into the crook of the hero’s neck. He felt the rumble of Superboys laugh through his chest, which only caused him to squeeze harder. 

"You're an ass!" He shouted over the wind. "You could have warned me!"

“Sorry!” Superboy called back, his voice filled with mirth, and Stray peeked up to see the large grin on the hero’s face. Yeah, he wasn’t sorry at all. 

Stray wanted to snap and yell at him to be put down, hissing his indignity. But, they were thousands of feet above the ground and he knew that the flight would only last for a couple of minutes—ten max. So he grumbled low in his throat, trying to ignore the feeling of strong arms around his chest and under his knees. Superboys large hands were warm against his leather cat-suit, almost like it wasn’t even there. Stray sucked in a calming breath, fighting the urge to press his face back to the hero’s throat so he could block everything out. Pretend this wasn’t happening. But that would bring him ever closer to him and Stray wouldn’t be able to stand that.

Tearing his eyes from Superboy, Stray forced himself to look at where they were going and inhaled sharply. They were flying high enough over the city that the lights looked like stars. 

Stars caught in a sea of metal and concrete. 

Cold wind bit into his cheeks and blew his bangs back over his cat-eared cowl. He wasn’t a stranger to flying through a city at night, rising and falling through the air, but this was different. There was no adrenaline rush with each fall, but a gentle path through the sky, even if it was at high speed. It was peaceful, and he felt a warmth spreading from his heart—from his mark. For once, he didn’t fight it. He relaxed, letting his limbs unlock and he leaned against the hero’s broad chest. 

His mind in a fog, he turned back to the Super and stared up at him. Kon-El wasn’t looking at him, instead, he kept his eyes on where they were going. Which was a good thing, always look where you’re going—especially at high speeds. However, that left Stray able to observe him without it directed back at him. It was dark, but the light from the city below was enough for him to see the sharp curve of his jawline and the startling blue-gray of his eyes. 

He was still staring when Superboy’s eyes flicked down and met his through his goggles. Tim blinked back at him, lost in his peaceful haze. They occurred so rarely that Tim never really fought it and was just happy to have the little moments.

“Umm…Stray?” Superboy asked, cocking his head lightly.

Tim hummed in acknowledgement, but didn’t surface. He hadn’t felt this comfortable in a long time. Actually, he can’t remember the last time he’d been this at ease.

Superboy cleared his throat and Tim felt him shift his weight from one foot to the other. “We’re here,” he added, his tone hesitant. 

Tim blinked. Where?

He looked around and noticed that they were in a dark alley, and he could see the empty road at the entrence of it, yellow street lights softly illuminating the dark pavement. He stared at it dumbly for a second, wondering why he wasn’t curled up on his couch with a cat on his lap. He only ever felt this at ease when he was home.

Then clarity snapped back and he whipped his head around to gape at the hero. The hero that was still holding him bridal style in his arms. 

Squawking, Stray scrambled out of his grip, and Superboy let him go. Landing on his feet, he danced a few paces away, his heart in his throat. He shook himself like an offended cat and walked briskly away from the hero. “Let’s go, I need to hack into the camera’s and the back door so we can slip in without any problems.”

His face burning, he ignored Superboy’s chuckle and focused on putting one foot in front of the other. He had no idea why he’d falling into such a deep state of comfort with basically a stranger. He couldn’t rationalise it. So he pushed it to the back of his mind and kept walking.

Thankfully, they’d landed a couple of blocks from the facility so Stray did what he did best and started to fade into the shadows. He blended in with the darkness that clung to each corner and indent, slinking closer to his target. Shifting his gait to something that was more _Stray_ , he shoved every emotion down and focused on the task at hand. 

When he got close to the facility, he ducked down another alley and manoeuvred until he was crouched out of sight, eyeing the security on the back door. Tapping his goggles, he switched between views until it flipped to infrared, where he could watch the couple of night guards roaming the grounds and hallways. Clicking his wrist computer back on, he quickly hacked into the surveillance cameras and looped the footage. 

Slipping a small device out of his belt, he whispered, “Stay out of sight until I tell you to.” He knew that the Super could hear him, but grimaced, knowing that couldn't be said for him. Dammit, he’d planned to give the other teen a comm, but he’d forgotten when Superboy had picked him up. His mind had just blanked. 

He cursed himself a couple of times more, until he spotted his chance and moved, staying out of sight of the guards. Lithely moving to the back door, he placed the device next to the security lock, and watched as the numbers flipped across the screen. With a light beep, it settled on a four digit code and the door unlocked. 

“Now,” he whispered, and slip inside, holding the door until Superboy joined him. He did so silently, his feet not even touching the ground. He hovered a few inches over the tiled floor and glanced at him for direction. Stray silently closed the door again and started to move on when he noticed something. His vision enhanced by the goggles, he saw that Superboy was a brighter yellow than the guards. So Kryptonians ran warmer than humans. Interesting. 

Pushing that revelation aside, he temporarily clicked it back to normal sight and fished out a comm from his belt, offering it to the Super. The hero raised a brow, but wordlessly accepted it and slotted it into pace in his ear. Stray tapped twice on his own comm and tilted his head. Superboy winced slightly, but nodded. Oops, it was too loud for super hearing. 

Looking around to make sure that the guards weren’t around, Stray stepped forwards and reached up, using a claw to turn down the volume on the device. That done, he stepped back, and whispered, “Better?”

“Uhhh…” Superboy blinked owlishly at him, shock widening his eyes. “Yeah,” he croaked quietly. 

Stray frowned, wondering why a simple gesture to make him more comfortable was so unusual for him. He wanted to dig further into that, seeing on how he was a hero and shouldn’t be short on people helping him. He wasn’t like Stray, he was part of something greater, but they didn’t have time for that.

Turning away, Stray led them down the hall, pausing a points to avoid the guards, until they reached a door that looked like a supply closet. Stray got them in without issue and he huffed a relieved breath. “Okay,” he tapped his goggles back to normal vision and quirked a small smile at the hero. “We’re through the normal security. Now it’s the abnormal ones we need to look out for.”

Superboy snorted. “I’m guessing there’s a secret door somewhere in here?” he asked, a small grin playing at his lips. His eyes flicked around the small room—more of a closet—full of cleaning chemicals and supplies. 

“You’d be guessing right,” Stray assured him before a mischievous smile tugged at his mouth. “But why do you need to ask me that? I thought you have x-ray vision.”

Superboy shrugged, his grin broadening. “Now where would the fun in that be? Just looking through the walls feels like cheating.”

“Only if you’re in a funhouse.” Stray snorted and shoved a cleaning cart out of the way, reaching the back wall. He ran in fingers over the panelling then pressed on a small section. He stepped back slightly when there was a hiss of hydraulics and the wall sank into the ground, revealing large elevator doors. Stray grinned and hummed lightly under his breath as he attacked the keypad, disabling it just as easily as the prior ones.

But he didn’t call the elevator up. Instead, he turned to Superboy and cocked his head at the steel doors. “If you would?”

Getting the hint, Superboy smiled and stepped forwards, pressing his hands on either side of the center line and just...pushed them apart. If Stray had any doubt of his super strength, they just went out the window. He hadn’t needed to get any leverage or grip other then traction from his skin. Sure, the doors were meant to open but...wow. His chest warmed at the display and he felt a flush rising up his neck. Which he promptly ignored as they both peered down the elevator shaft.

Superboy whistled lowly. “That’s a long fall.”

Stray grunted in agreement. “I did say the new labs were underground. I didn’t know that they were that far down though,” he muttered quieter. 

“Does that change anything?” Superboy asked. 

Stray shook his head. “No, the plan is the same. We need to find the closest computer terminal so I can get into their systems. That way, I can get all the proof that you need for a full mission. Whatever they’re doing isn’t legally or morally right. It needs to be shut down.”

Superboy paused, one hand on the doorway as he looked more directly at him. His expression was calm and thoughtful. 

“What?” Stray asked, frowning. Had he said something wrong?

A smile crossed the hero’s face and he shook his head as he flew into the elevator shaft. “It’s nothing,” he told him, still smiling. Floating in the open air, he extend a hand towards him, raising a brow in question.

Stray looked at it then realized what he was asking. Barking a laugh, he shook his head. “I had my share of being carried earlier, I’m good,” Stray said with a playful grin, one that he wasn’t feeling at all. Having the hero carry him would probably be the most strategic way down, but there was no way he’d allow that until figured out what the hell happened earlier. Fishing his grapple out of his belt, he attached it to the ceiling then jumped into the open air, the rope hissing as he descended. Superboy followed close behind, never passing him.

“Now would be a good time to cheat,” Stray informed him. “Look for any large cluster of computers.”

“Gotcha,” Superboy grunted then swivelled his head as they went. They went past a couple more floors before he pointed to a set of doors a meter or two below them. “That one—there’s a large lab with a lot of PC towers.”

Nodding, Stray squeezed his grapple trigger so it cut off the supply of rope. Jerking to a stop, he asked. “Anyone around?”

Flying over to the doors he’d indicated he opened just as easily. “Not that I could see,” he replied then stepped into the dim hall in front of them. The space was particularly baren with the walls and floor solid white. Clean, and sanitary like a hospital. 

Stray swung over to solid ground and yanked on his grapple in a way that would bring the rope snapping back to the grip. As he waited for it to fully reel in, he eyed the hero standing a little away from him. Superboy’s gaze was directed down the hall and his head cocked, probably listening for anyone moving on the same level. However, Stray could tell that he was agitated. Superboy’s back was straight and his shoulders had risen slightly towards his ears. He didn’t want to be there.

Stray could guess why he was reacting that way but he wasn’t going to say anything. He wouldn’t want people pointing out something he was trying to ignore, so he walked up beside the hero, idly looking around. “Which way?”

Superboy jerked and snapped his head around to stare at him. 

Stray kept his stance light and unaffected, waiting patiently.

Superboy blinked at him then jerked his chin forwards. Without saying anything else, he lifted himself off the ground and started making his way, supposedly, to the computers they needed. Stray followed without comment. 

It took them five minutes until Superboy pointed to a pair of doors, the glass fogged so you couldn’t see in. Stray ignored this and quickly bypassed the security, opening the doors to a room filled with desks and lab equipment. Microscopes, petri dishes and empty vials. On the far wall, Stray caught sight of a freezer that he knew kept samples of blood and other must-keep-cold chemicals. 

He ignored all of it and went to the closest computer, shaking the mouse to wake it up. Superboy trailed behind him at a slower pace, his gaze sweeping the walls, probably looking for anyone that would walk in on them. 

Quickly getting into the mainframe, Stray pulled a USB cord out from his wrist computer, plugging it in and started downloading everything he could. He didn’t have the time to go through everything right now, but he’d have to later to put together a case Superboy could use to get the JL down here. 

However, that didn’t mean that he couldn’t take a quick peek at what they were working on in this lab. Opening folders, he quickly scanned the documents then swore venomously. 

“What?” Superboy asked, coming close to look over his shoulder.

Stray let him, even pulling up other files as he hissed, “They’re experimenting on _children_.”

“ _What?_ ” Superboy rumbled, his voice dropping several octaves.

“They’ve been taking them off the street and other places that wouldn’t miss them. These bastards are trying to inject or unlock powers in the kids, enhancing what they have. At the moment, there are only four surviving ones. They don’t list their names,” Stray explained, bring up a document that had mug shots of the kids. Scrolling down, he passed dozens of pictures that had a red ‘TERMINATED’ over them. 

Superboy growled and disappeared from over his shoulders. Stray didn’t look to see where he was going but he heard something crash to the ground and shattering glass. He couldn't blame the hero. He wanted to hit something too. 

However, he knew that he couldn’t. Getting this information and giving it to the right people would be more productive. He clicked through more data as he waited for the download to finish.

Another crash.

Stray flicked his gaze to Superboy and saw him standing with his arms at his side, every muscle tight and ready to lash out. His face was in profile to him, but from what Stray could see, his expression was thunderous, brows heavy over his eyes. 

Stray didn’t say anything and went back to the computer. 

“They’re here.”

“What?” Stray snapped his head up and stared at the hero. He wasn’t looking at him, instead his glare was directed towards another exit from the lab. “They’re here,” he growled and launched himself to it.

“Wait!” Stray snarled, using as much urgency in his tone as he could. 

Superboy faltered and spun to glare at him. “I’m not leaving them here!” he roared. “They’re being kept in cells! Cells! I refuse to let them live there any longer.”

Stray checked the download and sighed in relief—it was finished. Yanking his USB from the computer port, Stray snapped back, “I'm not asking you to. But if you go tearing down there, you’re going to trip every goddamn alarm they’ve put in. Guide me to where they are and I might be able to get them out without alerting these bastards.”

Superboy blinked then grinned apologetically. 

It didn’t take them long to find the kids. Superboy was right, they were being kept in cells. A room specifically designed for that. The cells themselves where small, five foot by seven or so, the narrower end pointed to the middle walkway. And they were all made out of glass. The kids had no privacy, except for a little wall at the back that was probably a toilet. Their beds were cots on the ground. 

Superboy growled low in his throat at the sight of them and immediately yanked the closest door off its hinges. The kid inside screamed and scrambled back, pressing into the far corner.

Stray shoved past the Super and knelt as close to the ground as he could, hunching to make himself smaller. “Hey there,” he stared quietly, a gentle smile on his face. “We’re going to get you out of here, okay?”

The kid was a little girl, her tangled brown hair hanging down to her waist. She was wearing something similar to a hospital gown but tawny coloured. A quick glance around told Stray that all the kids were wearing them. Superboy was doing the same to every door that he could, freeing the kids. They didn’t make a lot of sound but it was obvious that they were terrified of them. 

Stray turned back to the girl in front of him. He’d seen her in the files. Genetically, she’d been human but they’d injected her with something that gave her the powers of a New Genesis God. Or that was the plan, it had yet to be successful. She was documented as ten, but she looked around eight with how small she was. He felt like he was looking in a mirror. A little kid, stunted by neglect and abuse. He’d never been hit himself, but she’d obviously had. There was a still healing bruise on her cheek, the size of an adult hand. 

Shuffling closer, Stray cooed, “It’s okay—I’m not going to hurt you.”

The kid whimpered and shoved herself further into the corner of her cell. “No, no—go away.”

Stray inwardly grimaced, but kept his face open and gentle. They were running out of time. He didn’t doubt that Superboy had alerted the guards with his stunt with the doors—not that he could blame him for reacting that way. He shifted, falling onto his knees as he thought of what to do.

The kid stiffened and covered her head with her arms. “No! No more tests!” she pleaded, her voice high with her distress. Within seconds, her form glowed a bright gold. 

Stray tensed, freezing so he wouldn’t spook her more. The air between them tightened and he felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. The power around her was building, the look of panic on her face following. It started to condense and pulse around her, sharp and dangerous.

“Little one,” he called softly, “you need to take deep breaths. Your power is out of control, you need to calm do—” Stray cut off with a strangled scream and a grunt. Pain shot through his side. Gasping, he instinctively placed a hand over where it was hurting but had to snatch his hand away when it burned. Hissing, he shook it and looked down. Protruding through his side, was a thin bolt of golden energy, matching the pulsating power around the girl. 

“Stray!” Superboy called from the hall, his tone sharp.

“I’m fine!” he snapped back. “Stay where you are.”

Not checking to see if Superboy listened to him, he sucked in a breath, and looked back up at the girl. Her eyes had widened impossibly larger and she was staring at the bolt. She paled even further, making the bruise on her face look dark and harsh.

“Okay, okay,” Stray muttered, sucking in another breath when his side flared up. “I’m okay. It’s okay,” he repeated, focusing on riding out the pain pulsing through him. So, there were a couple of things he’d done wrong there. Too late now, he grimaced. 

Biting his cheek, he withheld another gasp of pain and looked at the girl. Immediately, she scampered back, trying to merge with the wall. Her eyes flickered to and from his face and his wound, flinching each time she made eye contact with him. Why would his eyes scare—oh. She couldn’t see his eyes. All she could see were reflective glass.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath. “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you,” he soothed and slowly, so not to spook her further, he reached up and repositioned his googled on the top of his head, in front of the cat ears. “There, is that better?” he asked gently, his hands lowering again, his palms open and non threatening. Stray didn’t know why he didn’t think of that before, he doubted the scientist had worked without safety glasses. If they had, they dipped even further down his list of horrible people—granted, they were pretty low to begin with.

Straining to not show his pain on his face, he smiled. “See? I’m not so scary.”

She didn’t say anything, her wide eyes flicked to and from his, then dropping to his gut.

No, no no no, that wasn’t good. He didn’t want her focusing on that she hurt him. “What’s your name?” he asked gently, fighting to keep his voice soft and not tight with pain.

Her eyes snapped back up to his face. She looked really confused for a moment, not understanding the question, making his heart lurch. _Please, please, remember your name_ , he pleaded silently. Keeping his gentle smile, he continued, “How about I start? You can call me Al.”

“Al?” she whispered and his grin widened.

“Yup,” he grunted, “it’s short for Alvin. What’s yours?”

She eyed him wearily but relented, “Vivien…”

“Hi, Vivien, it’s nice to meet you,” he responded cheerily. She looked at him like he was crazy, but a hesitant smile started to cross her face. Taking that as a good sign, he asked, “Vivien, have you ever heard of Superman?”

Nodding hesitatingly, she eyed him, then her gaze flickered to somewhere behind him. He assumed that was where Superboy was standing, he could feel the hero’s heavy gaze on his back. For some reason, it didn’t make him tense up like how other peoples did—it felt more like a protective blanket. 

“You know that he’s a hero right, _the_ hero?”

Another nod, her lips mouthing a silent ‘yes’, which was good. Her eyes widened at whatever was behind him, which he could guess from the way he could hear Superboy shifting.

Stray jerked his head backwards, “This is Superboy, his son. We’re here to get you out of here.”

“Really?” another voice piped up, and Stray turned his head (not his torso, it was still throbbing like fire) to see a little African American boy in the cell beside them. His eyes were wide and jaw hanging as he stared upwards. 

“You bet,” Superboy grunted, a smile evident on his face, but Stray could hear the strain in his voice. 

“You’re here to save us?” another voice asked and Stray stopped himself from sighing in relief. They were starting to trust them. In fact, he knew the moment Vivien did, because the energy bolt vanished. He grunted at the shift, and he pressed a hand over the wound, hoping to keep some of the blood in his body. He’d already lost enough to make a small puddle on the floor. 

“Yup,” Superboy answered, his tone light and he began to chat to the other kids, getting them out of their cells and into the hall.

Stray turned his eyes back to Vivien, noticing that her eyes were back to his side, locked on his hand. Her eyes flickered back up to his, she whispered, “I'm sorry.”

Stray shook his head, ignoring another throb of pain at the reminder, “It’s okay—everyone gets scared. Now, come on, let's get you out of here,” he added, reaching out with the hand not covered in blood.

She nodded and scrambled to her feet, taking his when she neared him. Her hand was so small, less than half the size of his. “Are you a hero?” she asked.

Getting to his feet, he hummed, “Something like that, I go by Stray. Now, come on, we need to go.”

She nodded and they excited her cell, joining the other kids and Superboy. The hero had a kid in both arms, the ones that look like the youngest, while a ginger eleven year old clutched his jacket. That was all four of them.

Stray sighed in relief then and smiled at Superboy, but faltered when he caught the hero’s eyes. They were hard with something, a frown pulling at his lips. Frantic, Stray tried to think of anything that he might have done wrong but then Superboy’s eyes dipped down, lingering on his abdomen. “You alright?”

Oh. Stray tightened his grip on his wound. He was worried, he realised, Superboy was worried about him. The thought of that warmed his heart and he shot the hero a large smile. “I’m fine. We need to get out of here.”

Superboy’s boys face hardened, his eyes narrowing. He opened his mouth but then his eyes flicked to Vivien, then to the ginger boy and slowly shut it. He grimaced then turned to the kids in his arms, a grin taking over his face. “Okay, let's get out of this terrible place. Do any of you remember the moon?”

“Of course,” the little girl in his left arm scoffed, “it’s the big circle thing in the sky.”

“That’s good,” Superboy continued, and led them out of the room, leaving their cells behind.

***

They didn’t go back the way they’d come. Instead, Superboy led them deeper in, claiming that he could see an escape route. Stray didn’t doubt him, forgoing espionage altogether and typed on his wrist computer as they walked, wreaking havoc on Cadmus’s systems. He planted sleeper viruses that would activate a tracker if they ever popped up again with the same coding. He hid them artfully in all the damage that he was doing. 

He’d also locked down the whole compound, only opening the doors they needed. That’s what they get for putting all of their defences on the same server. 

He didn’t worry too much about his footing because Vivien had a hand on his elbow and was guiding him as they trailed after the Super. All the kids were being surprisingly quiet, or not, considering where’ve then been for who knows how long. Superboy had been forced to put the kids down, scouting ahead and fighting anyone that came across them. 

The ginger boy was carrying the other little girl, looking no older than five or six. The younger boy could have been seven, if Stray had to guess. Looking at them now, huddled together, Stray felt a surge of protectiveness. They were so small, too little to be going through what they have. Although, he’d be the first to say that age didn’t matter when it comes to bad things happening to you. 

Shaking that thought aside, he perked up when Superboy stopped in front of a bare wall. “Here,” he said, poking a particular panel. It pressed in with a click and a section of the walls slid up to show another door, this one heavy and thick. Blast doors. 

“Can you get it open?” Superboy asked, looking back at him.

Stray snorted with contempt. _Could he get it open_ —why was that even in question? Instead of responding, he walked up to it and tapped away at the control panel. Within minutes, the heavy door started rising and Superboy ducked through without waiting for it to open fully. The kids started to follow then baulked when they saw how dark the hallway was. There was no light, only a soft red glow from the emergency lights. Obviously Cadmus didn’t think that they’d need the back way out.

“It’s okay,” Stray told them, fishing out a small flashlight out of his belt and handed it to the ginger. “Use that.”

The boy nodded and took it, clicking it on and shown it into the dark where Superboy was tensely waiting for them. The younger kids clutching his tunic, the ginger led them forwards, and Stray brought up the rear. Once on the other side, he pressed a couple buttons and the doors began to lower again. 

When it slammed shut, Superboy gently manoeuvred him out of the way and began sealing it with his heat vision. The red of the lasers brightened the tunnel considerably and they waited, the kids huddled together. When the last part of it was welded shut, Superboy stepped back. Grinning at them, he said, “There, it’ll take them a while to get through that.”

Stray sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping. That was good. Looking down the hall, he asked, “How far away is the surface?”

Superboy squinted at the dark passage. “About a mile? There’s elevator system up into a small building. There’s only two guards there,” he reported then smirked. “They haven’t even been alerted yet.”

“That’s good,” Stray commented, suddenly feeling sluggish and dizzy. His side flared and he pressed his hand tighter to the open hole, trying not to tremble. His legs felt like lead and like he’d been up for 72 hours instead of 24.

God, he wanted a nap. He wanted his cat. Mica was soft and warm and the best at cuddling. Warm kitty, soft kitty, little ball of fur, he thought, trying not to giggle. God, a nap sounded wonderful. He leaned against the wall he was closest to. Wait, there wasn’t a wall there. He was going to fall over.

“Hey, hey, hey,” a voice cut through his thoughts and Stray blinked at the person grabbing his arm, keeping him upright. “Stay with me.”

Tilting his head back a little, Stray stared up at the worried blue-gray eyes of Superboy. The bigger teen was holding onto both of his arms, and carefully moving him so he was propped up against the wall. “You idiot,” he muttered, “you’re going into shock.”

“No ‘m not,” Stray protests.

“Yes, yes you are.” Superboy told him flatly. “You’ve lost more than a couple pints of blood. I can smell it. We should have bandaged it earlier.”

Stray shook his head. “Kids,” he muttered back and rolled his head, looking for them. Oh, there they were. All four of the little ones were huddled together, watching them warily, a blue glow around them. 

Stray blinked—glow?

Looking closer he noticed that the youngest little girl had things growing out of her arms that looked like fungus, and they were glowing. Right, Cadmus had been trying to infuse her DNA with Aunt Pam’s, to make a floral manipulator that they could puppet control. So, glowing mushrooms on a little girl. Not the oddest thing he’d seen.

“Yes, I get that,” Superboy cut into his thoughts, his tone clipped. “But they’re safe right now. We can take a couple of minutes to stop the bleeding. If we don’t you’re going to pass out.”

Okay, that sounds like a good plan, Stray admitted, but something else was bothering him. “Do you even know how to? You’re invulnerable,” he mumbled, knowing where this was going and slid down the wall so he was sitting on the floor.

Superboy snorted, crouching in front of him. “Yeah, I am, but my teammates aren’t. I know how to use first aid.”

Right, that made sense.

“Do you have any field bandages? Robin carries them everywhere.” Superboy asked, his hand hovering over the pockets of Stray’s belt.

“That’s ‘cause she’s squishy,” Stray retorted, but it lacked any bite as his hand fumbled at the right pocket.

“You’re squishy too,” Superboy snickered, batting his hands out of the way. Stray allowed it, slumping more heavily against the wall, his legs out in front of him.

As the hero organized things, Stray’s eyes slid away from him and to the kids, watching as the older two clutched the younger ones to them. When his eyes landed on Vivien, she flinched. 

Stray blinked, his heart lurching, “Hey, shhhh, what’s wrong?”

Her lip wobbled, her eyes shining. “You’re hurt, I hurt you—I’m, I'm sorry.”

Stray shook his head. “No, don’t say sorry. You were protecting yourself. Never say sorry for that.”

“I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

Okay, this was heavier than what his brain was capable of at that moment. Stray just shook his head again, trying to figure out what to say when Superboy piped up for him. “Then don’t. You get to decide from here on out what you want to do.”

Vivien blinked at him, looking like she didn’t quite believe that. That was okay, Stray knew how long it took to get used to something you previously thought was impossible. She’d get there. 

Stray smiled at her then grunted when something tugged at the zipper under his chin. Weakly swatting the hand away, Stray glared at the hero. “What d’you think you’re doin’?”

Superboy sighed, his hand going for the silver ring again. “You armor is too thick. Without damaging it further, I can’t get at your injury to properly bandage it.”

Stray grunted. That made sense. It did, but he wasn’t wearing an undershirt, he never did. His body was one of his weapons and he used it to get his way, having an undershirt would be more of a hindrance than a comfort. That was fine, he was used to it—but his mark was on his chest. Normally, he’d cover it with makeup—but he hadn’t thought he’d need it.

“I’m sorry, if I don’t, you’re going to pass out from blood loss.” Superboy argued, and he had a point. Any other day, he wouldn’t give a shit. Then, before he could find a retort, his zipper was yanked down his torso and his catsuit was being pushed aside. Stray gave a strangled scream, the movement making his side flare up. 

He groaned, hissing a breath through his teeth. His vision swam and he found himself on the floor. Blinked up at the dark ceiling, he stared at it, uncomprehending. He’d just been sitting so why…oh. He passed out. Goddammit. 

Grunting in irritation, he raised his arm to rub at his eyes. “How long was I out?” 

“Maybe a couple of minutes,” Superboy told him, sounding oddly timid. 

Stray frowned at that, lifting his head slightly to look at him. Superboy was kneeling on his left side, still working at patching his wound. He was being very gentle, carefully cleaning the skin. Stray jerked and hissed at the sting of the antibiotics.

“Sorry sorry,” Superboy stammered, his hands hovering over him.

“It’s fine,” Stray gritted out, trying to breathe evenly. The hero bobbed his head in a nod and got back to work. Silence fell on them, neither teen speaking and the kids were being surprisingly quiet.

When he tried to check on them, Superboy stopped him from twisting too much. “They’re okay,” he told him, and Stray relaxed back against the floor. “They’re just resting.”

“Hn.” Stray stared up at the ceiling for a moment, taking stock of what he could feel. The tiling under him was cold, already soaking through his leather catsuit. Also his toes were chilled, but he figured that was the bloodloss. His head was still foggy, but being horizontal was helping with some of that. What really bothered him though, was that his chest was bare, his suit pulled to the side so the hero could fix him.

“You saw it.”

It wasn’t a question, but Superboy answered anyway, his voice still oddly meak. “Yes.”

He groaned and covered his eyes with his arm. Only one person had seen his mark, other than himself. His parents hadn’t been in the picture when it finally appeared on his skin and he’d been frantic when he ran to Selina and ripped his shirt off. It had looked so dark against his porcelain skin, still tingling with magic. Superboy was the second—ever—to see it.

He didn’t know how to feel about that. 

Also, it was reacting to something. He didn’t know how much of it was in his head—blood loss can do things to you—but it felt like someone was holding an electric blanket to his chest, warm and soft. He couldn’t figure out what that meant, so he ignored it. 

He was too tired for this.

“So…” Superboy started hesitatingly, “do you know who it is?”

Stray lifted his arm and stared at him. 

The Hero squirmed under his gaze, biting his lip. “I mean, you know everything—right? That’s what Nightwing said. I’m guessing you know who I am.”

Well, he wasn’t wrong, and he can see Dick saying that. Letting his arm fall back to the floor, Stray exhaled through his nose. God, he wanted a nap. “No, I don’t, Kon-El. It doesn't matter anyway.”

The hands pressing gauze against his skin stilled. “What?” he demanded, his tone dropping.

Stray rolled his eyes then winched. His head pounded and he let his eyelids close. He wondered if he hit his head when he passed out. “I was markless before. Having one now doesn't change anything.”

Silence.

“What do you mean by markless?”

Stray creaked on eyelid open to glance at him. Kon-El was looking at him with a mix of confusion, pain and guilt? Why did he feel guilty for something? Maybe because he saw his mark without permission? Whatever, it doesn't matter. Not knowing why he was sharing this, he answered him. “It appeared when I was fourteen. That means that whoever I'm attached to is three right now. A _child_. So no, it doesn't matter.”

“Oh.” Kon-El mumbled, sounding oddly chastised, then he straightened. “So, when your marked comes of age, will it matter then?”

“No.”

“ _No?_ ” Kon-El repeated, incredulous. “Why not?”

Stray sighed, his head rolling to the side. He was too exhausted for this conversation. Also, apparently his filter had gone out the window. “A mark is just a suggestion,” he mumbled with his cheek pressed against the tile. It was nice and cool. “It doesn't mean that you’ll like them. They should date someone their own age. Someone who they could love.”

Kon-El made a strangled sound in his throat, “You—” he started then cut off. Stray opened his eyes to see that his head had snapped back to the door. “They found it,” he told him curtly. “Come on, up—we need to move.”

Stray groaned but obeyed, getting to his feet with the hero’s help. With his arm slung over Kon-El’s shoulders, and his suit rezipped, he felt a little more present. He was still dizzy and short of breath, but he pushed it down as he asked, “Any heavy hitters?”

Kon-El shook his head. “Not that I can see, but even grunts could be a danger right now,” he added, jerking his chin to the cuddle pile in front of them. The cuddle pile that was stirring. 

“What’s going on?” The Ginger asked, rising to his feet quickly. 

“They figured out which door we used,” Kon-El told him cheerily. “Up and at ‘em.”

Vivien and The Ginger blinked and quickly roused the other two, pulling them up. Ginger Boy picked up Mushroom Girl and started down the hall, glancing back every once and awhile to make sure that they were following. Vivien and the other boy were close behind. 

Superboy and Stray hobbled after them for a second before the hero scooped him up and flew ahead. He squawked at the manhandling but relented to it. They were just running down the hall, he could put up with it.

Admittedly, the rest of the escape wasn’t as exciting. Superboy went up first, taking care of the guards, then coming down so they could ride the elevator up together. Once above ground again, and out into the open air, the kids gapped at the open sky. The hero grimaced at their reaction but continued cheerfully on, pointing out the half moon for the little ones. 

Keeping a hand on the gauze slowly getting more filled with blood, Stray backed away from the group. He waited until Kon-El was distracted with the kids before slipping away. Stray had no doubt that his departure would be noticed, but he was counting on Superboy putting more importance on the kids than him, over following him. 

And he was right. Stray made it back to his safehouse in one piece, where he cleaned and stitched the hole in his side closed. After that was done, he collapsed on the couch, not having any energy to make it to the bed. Within seconds his world went dark. 

***

When Tim opened his eyes the next evening, he glanced around the apartment, looking for...something. It was dark, thanks to the blackout curtains he’d installed in every place he bought. Groaning, he sat up, his hand automatically going to his stab wound. He was not looking forward to the next week, he hated getting injured. 

Grimacing against the pain, he went about ordering food, knowing that he’d need the protein to heal. Waiting for it to arrive, he opened his laptop and started going through all the information that he’d gotten the night before. Dividing up what he thought was important and what he declared useless, Tim lost himself to the work of it. There was a lot there, he hadn’t even made a dent when his chicken dinner arrived.

One handedly eating as he worked, he was just looking at a document on the mushroom girls genes when a notification popped up on his screen. Frowning, he clicked on it and stared when a page opened, asking him to accept six thousand dollars, the sending account the one that he’d given to Superboy that first meeting.

“You idiot,” Tim said to the empty apartment. He hadn't delivered the information yet. Obviously, the hero thought that the kids were enough. Sitting back, he rubbed his thumb over his lower lip. What should he do with this information then? Sell it? He knew that Aunt Pam would probably like to know that a child was created with her DNA. There were other people that would like data like this.

He tapped his lip and frowned...no. Information like this shouldn’t be sold. He’d still deliver it to the hero, despite already being paid for it. The kids deserve to live a life free and not under a microscope.

The next day, he sent over the filtered information, highlighting the important pages. 

He went home to Gotham that night. For whatever reason, the safe house had been too empty, too devoid of other life, when it hadn’t mattered before. He kept catching himself looking for someone else, someone with a bright grin. That didn’t even touch the hollow feeling in his chest, like he was missing a piece of himself. He knew that he was, he was missing several pieces, but it had never felt so deep before.

When he’d gotten home, and Mica came running and yelling, he just picked her up and hugged her close to his chest. 

It still hurt.

He didn’t understand this at all, nothing had changed. He had one stupid conversation about soulmates and now that was all he could think about. He buried himself into non physical work as he healed, getting information remotely and selling them without having to leave his couch.

Hacking into the JL servers, he found that the kids were being taken care of, being placed together in a home for special kids. That lifted a weight of his shoulders. The few pictures he found showed them looking happy, and more relaxed than in the labs.

A week after the job, Selina decided to drop in, waltzing through his front door and ran a judging eye over him.

“You’re not even dressed,” she stated flatly.

Tim blinked up from his laptop screen then down at himself. Looking back up, he said, “Pjs are comfy.”

She snorted then flopped down in loveseat beside him and crossed her legs. “That they are,” she agreed and reached out, running a hand through his hair, “but you’re not taking care of yourself.”

“I am,” he retorted, swatting at her before running a hand through his hair himself and grimaced. Okay, she had a point. “What day is it?”

Pointing a manicured nail at him, she chidded, “That’s why I worry about you, kitten. You should know what day it is.”

He thought about it for a second before asking, “Is it an important one?”

Shaking her head, she rubbed her temple, “Tim, you shouldn’t even have to ask that. No, it’s not, but I expected to hear about the job with Superboy after you finished. You didn’t even text me. You dove right into the next one. What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

Tim winched. She was right, he hadn’t. “Nothing’s…wrong—don’t look at me like that, it’s not. I’m fine. It’s just…something’s off.”

She frowned. “Off how?”

Tim grimaced and shifted on the couch, putting his laptop onto the coffee table. Sitting back, he loosely crossed his arms over his chest. Shrugging one shoulder, he admitted, “Something’s missing. I have no idea what it is, but I keep looking over my shoulder expecting to see someone there. I don’t get it.”

Selina’s expression sharpened and her eyes narrowed. “You’re rubbing your mark.”

Tim blinked at her, uncomprehending, then looked down. His right palm was flat over his heart, where his mark was. He dropped it and wrapped his arms around his stomach instead. “I’m fine,” he repeated mulishly.

Selina sighed. “No, you’re not. What happened on that mission? Come on, that’s when it started, don’t even try.”

He groaned and banged his head against the back cushions of the couch. Pressing his cheek into the pleather, he said, “It doesn't matter.”

“Clearly it does or you wouldn’t be mopping like this.”

He shot her a mild glare. “I’m not mopping.”

“Uh-huh, keep telling yourself that.”

“I’m not,” he insisted then gave up when he saw her flat look. “Fine. We had a conversation about soulmates and now it won’t stop bothering me.”

Her brows shot up, “With Superboy?”

He nodded, tightening his arms around himself. His wound flared dully but he ignored it. 

“How did that happen?” she demanded.

Tim kept his mouth shut. There was no way he was going to tell her that the hero had seen it. How intimate seeing someones mark was different from person to person—some people wore them openly, proud of their mates while others kept it close to their chest. Tim was in the latter category, and the extreme of that to boot. Superboy was the second, ever, to see it, so that was a big deal. If he told her that, he’d never hear the end of it, even if it had been an accident. Also, he was kinda afraid that she’d go after the hero for some messed up reason. 

“It just did,” he said finally.

She sighed in frustration. “Okay, fine—keep your secrets—”

“Always do.”

“—but it started acting up after talking with him, doesn't that mean something?” she finished like he hadn’t said anything.

He froze. Did it? His mark had been aching for a full week now, rising and falling in its intensity. It was the least painful when the image of Superboy’s smile intruded on his thoughts. Or when he was remembering how kind the hero was with the kids. With him.

Did that mean…?

No, it was impossible. Kon-El was his age, there was no way that he was Tim’s soulmate. And even if he was, there was no guarantee that he’d want someone as damaged as him. He was Stray, a grey _villain_ , someone that didn’t mind getting his hands dirty. There was nothing there. He wasn’t what his parents wanted. He wasn’t what the bats had tried to convince him he was. He was an alley cat, torn and battered by the world. A hero wouldn’t want someone like that.

Selina must have seen something on his face because she sighed and flicked his nose. “Come on, go take a shower, we’re going out.”

Batting at her hand, he squinted at her. “Where?”

She grinned toothily, “Somewhere fun. Maybe with a little insanity thrown in.”

He stared at her for a moment, mulling that over before getting up, “Fine, you win. It’s been a while since I saw Aunt Harley anyway.”

And have fun they did, coming home with pockets full of jewels, confetti in their hair as sirens sang down the streets.

***

Three weeks later, just when he was beginning to get use to the constant pain of his mark, there was a knock at his door. He was sprawled out on his couch, a book in his hand when he heard it. Lowering it, he frowned. He wasn’t expecting anyone and there was no reason for random people to knock on his door. He owned the whole floor, it wasn’t like someone could get lost. Well, they could, but it wasn’t very likely.

Quickly pulling up his hallways security feed on his laptop, he checked to see who was there. What he saw made his heart stop. There was Superboy, dressed casually in a plaid button up that was tucked into tight jeans. He was leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his broad chest. 

The next thing he knew, Tim had gotten up and marched to the door, yanking it open. “What are you doing here?” he demanded. 

Superboy startled, his head snapping up, a pair of thick glasses slightly askew on his face. He opened his mouth, presumably to say something, but then his eyes widened and they dipped down before coming back to his face, a flush dusting his cheeks. 

Tim frowned, wondering what had caused him to stop. He wasn’t wearing anything too revealing, bundled warmly in a large, fuzzy black sweater and universe leggings. Sure, his top was shorter than normal, cutting off right above the lowish band of his pants, showing a bit of his torso. But that shouldn’t have left the hero speechless—he was in _comfy clothes_. 

Shaking that thought away, he switched questions, “How did you even find me?”

“Um…” Superboy started, pushing off the wall to rub the back of his neck. “You, um… you have a distinctive heartbeat. It’s kinda hard to ignore.”

Tim stared at him. His heartbeat. The Super had found him by following the sound of his heart. That was...he didn’t know what that was—creepy? endearing? He didn’t know. Nor did he know how to feel about that. So, he pushed it down, focusing on more practical things. “Why?” he asked, his voice cutting, partly to cover his confusion and partly because his mark flared painfully.

Superboy’s eyes found his again and a scowl started to pull at his face, tightening it. The angry look lasted for a couple of seconds before he forced his face smooth again. Jamming his hands into his pockets, he cleared his throat. “I was hoping we could talk.”

Tim narrowed his eyes. “About?”

Superboy fidgeted, running a hand through his hair. “Well, for one thing—I wanted to see if you were okay. You left looking pretty bad.”

Tim was thankful for his training because otherwise his mouth would be hanging open. He wanted to check up on Stray? For a stab wound? He had been worried about him? His chest warmed and he could feel blood darkening his cheeks before something else occurred to him. 

“That was four weeks ago,” Tim told him flatly. “Why are you coming now if—MICA!” he snapped as a creamy blur brushed past his leg. He tried to block the cat’s path with his leg but she was fast enough to run out into the hall. Tim started after her, but stopped when the next thing he knew, Superboy was holding the cat against his chest, supporting her hind legs with one hand while the other rested on her back. 

She merr-ed at him then looked at Tim, ears drooping. He glared at her. “Brat,” he hissed, “you know better.” More like _he_ should have known better, that cat was always trying to run out into the hall. 

She flicked her tail then turned away from him, instead looking at the person holding her. Superboy stared back, an amused smile twitching onto his face. Apparently dubbing him an okay person, she butted her head against his chin. He chuckled and moved to scratch behind her ear, saying, “Well, aren’t you pretty.” His voice was mild with mirth and a small amount of amazement. Tim’s breath hitched just hearing it, his grip on the door handle tightening. 

“And she damn well knows it,” Tim said instead, trying to cover his rising emotions. Really, he couldn’t blame the hero for saying that. Mica, as a tortoiseshell siamese, did have a beautiful pattern.

Superboy’s blue eyes flicked back to him and he snorted.

“What?” Tim asked. 

“Nothing,” he said innocently, which he didn’t buy at all. “It’s just...Stray has a cat. Her name’s Mica?”

Tim rolled his eyes, “Yes, the catburglar has a cat. At least _I_ only have one. And yes, her fur looks like mica, as in the mineral.”

Superboy’s brows furrowed slightly. “Mica is a mineral?”

“Yes.”

Superboy nodded, still petting his cat. They stood in silence for a moment before he asked quietly, “May I come in?”

Tim hesitated, watching him before his eyes flicked to his cat. She looked way too happy in his arms, purring and asking for attention. Superboy’s hands, while petting her, were bigger than her head. He knew how strong those hands were, but they were running down her back gently, like he couldn’t crush her with one finger. She stood up on his palm to rub her chin higher and on his glasses. He laughed when she dislodged them, gently pushing her away before fixing them. Something twisted in his gut, seeing his cat so happy with a hot guy holding her. 

“Fine,” he found himself saying, stepping back and into his home. 

Superboy followed him and Tim heard the soft click of his door closing as he went into his kitchen. He headed straight to his coffee maker, grumbling that it was too early for this. He completely ignored that it was well past noon by that point. As the water started to boil in the machine, he heard the clunk of boots on the linoleum flooring.

Without looking up, Tim asked, “Do you want one?” A part of him didn’t want to be a host to the hero, since he was barging in so impulsively. But, old lessons die hard, and he’d had proper host edicate drilled into his head from a young age. 

“Are you making coffee?”

“What else would I be making?” he shot back, looking over his shoulder at the hero. He blinked when he saw that he was still holding Mica, petting her idly as he stood in the doorway. Catching sight of Tim, Mica pursed her whiskers in a cat smile and snuggled up to the hero again. Tim narrowed his eyes at her. Brat. 

Superboy paused, eyes flicking between him and the coffee maker. “Tea?”

Letting out a long suffering sigh, Tim started to pull out two mugs. “I have some,” he admitted, “but I'm not making a full pot.”

“That’s fine.”

Placing the mugs on the counter, Tim nodded then turned around so he was leaning back against it. Now facing the hero, he crossed his arms over his chest, raising a brow at him expectantly.

Superboy stilled under his gaze then cleared his throat, “Your name’s not actually Alvin, is it?”

Tim blinked, a little thrown. What? Where was that—oh. The name that he’d given the kids. He snorted, tilting his head playfully. “What makes you say that?”

Superboy grunted, a smile tugging at his lips. “Please, there’s no way that Stray, the most tight lipped villain in Gotham, would give his real name out—even to comfort a bunch of kids.”

Tim shrugged, because it was true. Alvin Draper was a name that he used often when it was necessary, particularly when he was looking at art based jobs. “Nope.”

The hero nodded, expecting this. Bending, he placed Mica back onto the floor where she complained before getting distracted with a pom-pom under the kitchen table. She pounced on it, her tail going back and forth. Now with his hands free, Superboy hooked his thumbs into his jean pockets and smiled widely. “I’m Conner, but I normally go by Kon.”

Tim stared at him, his eyes widening because... _what?_ Did he just—he did. What kind of idiot—

“You can’t just say that!” he blurted out. “Wha—why—don’t you know anything about a secret identity? I know you Kryptonians don’t have much besides glasses and endearing attitudes to throw people off but _come on_! Don’t tell me your name!”

Conner—Kon, blinked at him, frowning slightly. “It’s not like you didn’t know it already,” he reminded him mildly then tilted his head like a dog. “Endearing?”

Tim made a strangling wheezing sound in this throat. “And why would I know you’re name?” he demanded, ignoring the fact that he knew almost everyone’s in the Justice League and then some. “What if I didn’t?”

Kon shrugged, his large shoulders rolling with the motion. “I would have told you today anyway.”

Tim narrowed his eyes, tilting his head back as he regarded him. “Why?”

Instead of answering, Kon observed him for a moment. Anywhere his eyes touched, Tim’s skin warmed and he resisted the urge to squirm. “You ask that a lot,” he commented.

“It’s literally my job to ask that,” Tim pointed out. 

Kon snorted and shook his head ruefully, a smile tugging at his mouth. “True enough. So?”

“So what?” Tim asked, trying not to get frustrated at the non answers that he was getting. 

“What’s your real name?”

Tim froze and stared at him. “You did not just ask me that,” he said flatly. Confusion crossed the Super’s face, and his mouth twisted as Tim continued, “You don’t come to my home, cuddle up with my cat, and ask me my _personal name_. You don’t do that!” 

Superboy’s mouth opened but he cut him off. “No—you don’t understand Gotham at all, do you? Or _villains_ ,” Tim spat. “Names have power. Knowing who someone really is can change the board drastically. _Ra’s al Ghul_ doesn't even know who I am! And the less people who know—the safer everyone is. Can you imagine if he knew where to find me? If he managed to get me on his side? _Your world would burn_. So no, you do not get to ask for my name.”

Frustration crossed the hero’s face as he talked but when he brought up Ra’s, his face paled, clearly picturing a world where Stray was allied with the man. Tim agreed with him. The man was creepy and horrible, but he was also brilliant and ambitious. If Stray worked with him...there was little that would be about to stop them. He wanted to stay as far away from that as possible.

Before Superboy could find his voice, Tim went on, “Why are you _here_? If this is really about my wound, you’re four weeks late! But here—” he yanked up his sweater, showing off his torso and the light pink flower-like scar just slightly away from his stomach and below his ribs. It still looked slightly raw, but he wasn’t in any danger of reopening it. “—see? I’m doing fine, thanks for asking.”

The hero’s eyes snapped down, staring at it. He swallowed, his gaze dragging back up to his. Looking at him, his expression darkened in frustration and...guilt? He crossed his arms defensively over his chest and lifted his chin. “I wanted to go after you the moment you snuck off! But I had to get the kids somewhere safe!”

“Good!” Tim shot back, voice rising to match the Supers, covering the stuttering of his heart at the confession that the hero had wanted to find Stray right away. 

“Which I did, by the way,” Superboy continued, clearing not hearing Tim’s pulse skipping. “I got to them to the JL and they’re happy now. They get to be kids, and not locked in a cage somewhere. Another thing—they were asking for you! Vivien wanted to make sure that you weren't dead and the only thing I could say was that you were alive! You saved them, brought them out of that hell hole, but then you _left_!”

“I know!” Tim snarled back automatically, because he _did_ know, but then the last part of what the hero said ran in his ears.

_You left!_

Tim’s breath caught in his throat and he staggered back against the counter, not realising that he’d pushed away from it while they argued. He caught the edge of the counter and clutched it, the treated wood digging into his palm. 

_You’ll be fine Tim. We’ll be home in a couple months, be a good boy._

_They're leaving again, and it's my fault._

Tim sucked in a strangled breath and closed his eyes. The sound of heels clacking on cold marble echoed in his head. How her retreating steps would sound so final in that too empty house. 

_Tim watched as his father and mother left, sharing smile with each other that they would never share with him. Not their markless, loveless, son. They’d spend the next months away from him and his blank heart._

_He’s over six! He should have gotten his mark by now!_

_Unnatural child._

_What’s a little kitten like you doing out here? Aren’t you cold?_

Selina. Tim’s breath rush back into his lungs. Mama Cat. He hadn’t been abandoned. He was okay. He wasn’t discarded. 

_But you were._

Tim whimpered and dug his nails into the back of his neck, bowing his head. 

“Hey hey hey, you need to breathe, come on, in and out,” a soothing voice cut through his own, and Tim blinked open his eyes. In front of him, but not crowding, was a handsome face, his pretty ice like eyes pinched with worry. When he saw that Tim was looking at him, he smiled. “That’s it, in…and out. There you go.”

Tim followed his instructions, forcing air into and out of his chest on command, until the fog that had fallen over his was less. Not gone, it’d never be full chased away, but it was manageable now. Tim sighed and rubbed both hands over his face, noticing dully what he’d sank to the floor, his back pressed up against the cabinets and his knees curled to his chest. Peeking through his fingers, he saw that Kon was sitting in front of him, cross legged. 

When he noticed that Tim was looking at him, he grimaced. “I’m sorry.”

Tim dipped his head in acknowledgement, but didn’t say anything to that. What could he say? It wasn’t okay, and he didn’t owe the hero an explanation. He covered his face again and just breathed.

A little meow cut through his thoughts and he looked up to see Mica padding towards him, her tail dropping.

“I’m okay,” he croaked to his cat and held out a hand. She sniffed his fingers before rubbing against them, and he ran a hand down her back. Her soft, warm fur. He shifted so he was also sitting cross legged and she climbed into his lap, grounding him with her weight. 

He continued to pet Mica for a couple minutes before he gathered enough courage to look up. Kon was still sitting there, watching them with an oddly subdued expression. When he caught his eye, he sat up slightly, a soft smile trying to stretch onto his face. 

Leaning back against the cabinets, Tim asked, “Kon, what do you _want_?”

Surprisingly, the hero shifted uncomfortably on the floor, an anxious grimace twisting his lips. He drumbbed a thumb against his knee, his head slightly bowed so he was looking at him through his floppy bangs. He bit his lip and admitted, “I don't know if this is a good time for this.”

Tim grunted and rubbed his eye. “When is there a good time for anything?”

Kon snorted, shaking his head in agreement. “Ain’t that the truth.” He fell silent for a moment then continued, “I really don’t know how to say it without messing up again, so I'll just show you.”

Tim frowned at the odd comment and was even more confused when Kon straightened and reached over his head and grabbed a fistful of his plaid shirt. In one quick movement, he’d pulled it up and off, letting it pool around his arms as he sat up straight, puffing out his chest slightly, turning his left peck towards Tim. Automatically, his eyes dipped down.

Tim froze, his hand stilling as he petted Mica.

Over the hero’s heart (just like his) was a black design, a _mark _of odd shapes.__

Identical to his.

His eyes snapped back up to Kon’s where he was watching him, biting his lip. Tim stared at him, his mind whirling to make sense of all this. Superboy/Kon-El/Conner Kent, was sitting on his kitchen floor, in front of him, without his shirt on, with their shared mark uncovered for him to see.

Kon was his soulmate.

How? He looked like his age, a seventeen year old, not a thre—

“You’re a clone,” he blurted out before he could stop himself. Kon’s face started to twist into a snarl but Tim banged his back against the cabinets as he worked it out. “You’ve only been alive for three years, but you’re my age mentally and physically because of accelerated ageing and information downloaded into your brain.”

Kon scrunched his nose like he didn’t know how to react to that.

“And you saw my mark,” Tim continued, tangling a hand into his hair and pulling slightly. “You saw my mark and recognised it as your own. Why didn't you—” he stopped and stared at him, replaying the conversation in his head. “Because I said it didn’t matter.”

Kon grimaced and nodded.

Tim groaned and buried his head in his hands, bending forwards. Mica complained at being squished and escaped, slipping off his lap to go do something else. Without her blocking him, he bent fully at the waist till his head was near the floor.

“That can’t be comfortable,” Kon commented.

“Is too,” Tim mumbled into his hands, ignoring how juvenile it sounded. 

"Then you're really flexible."

Tim blinked. Was he flirting with him? Sounded like it. If it was with Stray, he'd flirt right back, probably doing something outlandish. But this was Tim and this was his _soulmate_ potentially flirting with him.

He curled further into himself, feeling like a turtle. How was he supposed to deal with this? He'd been committed to a life of solitude since he was a kid. Getting a mark hadn't changed that. But now, Superboy was sitting here with proof that they were soulmates. 

But after four weeks of silence.

"Why now?" He asked without unfurling. He didn't know if he could manage eye contact just then.

"Err...what? I just said that you were flexible," Kon answered, sound lost.

Tim flapped a hand out in front of him dismissively. "Why come to me now? You knew weeks ago."

"Oh." Kons boots squeaked on the linoleum floor as he shifted. He cleared his throat. "Cassie got the story out of me then called me an idiot."

Tim snorted. He could see the newest Wonder Girl doing that. He'd seen her do that, the one time he'd been dragged into helping them defeat a robot army. 

Without prompting, Kon went on, "What you said...sounded like a rejection. I didn't…uh...I didn't react well to that. I was being 'grumpy' and she sat me down and said that I couldn’t take it as one since you didn't know that I was your soulmate."

Tim shook his head as an answer, even if it was redundant. It was obvious that he hadn't.

"She was right," Kon said with a chuckle. 

"She's you're leader." Tim reminded him.

There was a beat of silence before Kon spoke up again. "You really do know everything."

Tim snorted. "Evidently not."

"Yeah, but...that's different."

True enough.

Still hunched over, Tim sank into his thoughts, dully listening to the hero shift and fidget, but didn't say anything. He weighed the pros and cons of accepting this. This was Superboy, a hero, and he was a villain. There was no way this could work.

But they were soulmates.

That didn't mean anything. His parents hadn't been soulmates.

Bruce and Selina were. Look at what they were doing. Always playing the game of cat and bat, both afraid of commitment. 

He was a Cat. 

Kon was a Super.

He shouldn't go for this. He was markless, a blank, empty child.

He opened his mouth to say all this, to tell him to find someone he could love, but his words got caught in his throat.

_You're not loveless, kitten. Don't give up on yourself. I love you so much. They should have too, and it's their loss. Don't make it yours._

He breathed in deep, and exhaled. Sitting up, he leaned back against the cabinets, his hands resting in his lap. Kon perked up, a hesitant, hopeful smile tugging at his mouth. Tim watched that for a moment, seeing something there that he'd previously been denying himself.

The idea that someone could love him.

But nothing was that simple. "What just happened, will happen again," he warned. “I get attacks like that every so often.”

Kon sat a little straighter. "I know, so do heroes."

"I'm damaged."

Kon's eye twitched and a darker look flickered for a millisecond. "So am I."

Tim took in another large breath, exhaling slowly. Biting his lip, he said, "Tim."

A large smile spread across Kons face and he beamed at him. "Tim," he repeated, the sounds rolling off Kons tongue. "Is that…?"

"My name?" Tim finished, melting at the look he was being given. A more hesitant smile tugging at his lips, but still a smile. "It is. I'm not giving you my full name, not yet—but I can't have you calling me 'Stray' in public, now can I?"

The grin Kon shot at him was even brighter, and Tim chuckled at how much he resembled a puppy. When he reached a hand out, Kon automatically took it, and Tim marvelled at how warm his large hand was, practically dwarfing his own. "I want to get to know you first," he said, looking up from their intertwined fingers. "I'm not jumping straight into this."

Kon bobbed his head, looking happy enough that he'd agree to anything. "That's okay. I want to know you too."

Tim sighed, but it wasn't heavy and hurting like they'd been for so long. "The water should be boiled by now," Tim commented.

Kon snorted, laughing under his breath. "It shut off ages ago."

"Oh darn, I guess I just have to boil more." Tim smirked and climbed to his feet.

Grinning, Kon followed him. "Looks like."

**Author's Note:**

> and done, yay!! and actual finished fic!!!
> 
> Mica is actually based after my sister's cat, who is a big enough georaphy nerd to name her cat after a _mineral_
> 
> here's some pictures of Mica cause she's too pretty not to share:
> 
> [ ](https://ibb.co/LN68gpr)
> 
> [](https://ibb.co/K7BWVVk)  
> 


End file.
